I’m afraid to touch things because of the stale smoke I will leave.
I want to warn people, and say don’t touch me, because I will stick to you like melting candy.
I feel the sadness saturating my bones like a steak sauce,
and the droplets of water I collect on my fingertips are all I have left.

You’ve been forgotten more times than a dusty old library book and I can tell you’re getting sick of it.
You said that we should just calm down but I’ve already counted to ten as many times as I could.
Clean sheets can’t help us forget the past anymore,
and we’re all shoveling the dirt away as fast as we can to see what problems we’ve buried.
We’re all ripping the bricks away as fast we can to see what walls we’ve built.

I’ve been drinking distilled water for months now and I still feel waves crashing against the inside of my body.
The inside of my mind looks like what you’d find underneath a turtle shell.

I don’t care what god put you here because you have every right to follow the trails of any dream you’ve ever had.

I don’t care what god put you here because you’re going to find someone who has lips that fit your’s like a puzzle piece.

And I don’t care what god put you here because the butterflies in your stomach can speak any and every language that has ever been exchanged by words, touch, or eye contact.